


The Lion, The Dragon, and the Broom Cupboard

by tasteofshapes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (sort of), Adventure & Romance, Angst, Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Partners, Blow Jobs, Closet Sex, Denial of Feelings, Dragons, Friends to Lovers, HP Kinkfest 2020, Hand Jobs, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter is Bad at Feelings, Harry Potter is Obsessed with Draco Malfoy, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Smut, Trapped In A Closet, magical creature trafficking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:54:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23040520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tasteofshapes/pseuds/tasteofshapes
Summary: Draco thinks he’s hallucinating the first time when he opens the door to the office pantry and finds Potter there instead, looming out of the shadows of what appears to be a cupboard like some deformed gargoyle. Things don’t go much better after that.Or, three broom cupboards, two times they get it on, and one love story.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 94
Kudos: 808
Collections: HP Kinkfest 2020





	The Lion, The Dragon, and the Broom Cupboard

**Author's Note:**

> **Written for Kinkfest 2020** , prompt #S115, prompted by @bitter_cake  
>  **Kink** : Trapped in a broomcloset/confined space/sex potion made them do it
> 
> This fic would not be what it is if I hadn’t had the help, hand-holding and cheering from the following amazing people: **[@tackytiger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tackytiger/pseuds/tackytiger)** for leaving encouraging comments and talking me through a long moment of self-doubt; **[@prolix (shal)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shal/pseuds/prolix)** for reading several early drafts of this and alphaing it; **[@EvAEleanor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvAEleanor/pseuds/EvAEleanor)** for cheering and helping me get the boys into the second broom closet; **[@icarusinflight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarusinflight/pseuds/icarusinflight)** who originally agreed to beta when I said that this would max out at 8k, and who stuck with me anyway when it turned out to be much, _much_ longer than what I said it would be - thank you for the incredible beta work and whipping this into shape, and **[@shiftylinguini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiftylinguini/pseuds/shiftylinguini)** for coming in with some seriously wonderful beta work at the last minute.  
> This would have been a much lesser story without each and every one of you, so thank you. 
> 
> Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The first time that Draco finds Harry Potter hiding in a cupboard is unexpected, to say the least. 

At this point, Draco hasn’t slept properly in four days, and so he assumes that he’s hallucinating when he opens the door to the office pantry and finds Potter there instead, looming out of the shadows of what appears to be a cupboard like some deformed gargoyle. He looks back at Potter staring out at him, light reflecting off his glasses, and says politely, "Oh, sorry, I thought this was the pantry," and closes the cupboard door on Potter’s red face. Behind the closed door, Potter makes a strange noise; half squeak, half spluttered outrage.

He stands there for a few seconds, staring blankly, wondering where the pantry had disappeared to, and could it please come back because his night is only getting started, and he _really_ needs some coffee if he’s going to power through the rest of the files Fossey left for him on his table. 

At that thought, Draco snaps back to reality and flings open the cupboard door again and stares at Potter, still struggling to comprehend the sight in front of him. "No, hang on," he says, "why are you standing in a cupboard? Have you decided to move in and make this your home?"

It’s only when Potter begins to swell with indignation, two flushed spots of colour beginning to appear on his cheeks, that Draco realises that Potter thinks Draco’s insulting him. They haven’t spoken since Potter testified on his behalf at his trial, glaring out at the Wizengamot as he told them how Draco and Narcissa had both saved his life, twice. It hadn’t impressed the judges.

"By _lying_ , which the Malfoys seem to have a particular talent for. Is it really fair to reward them for a skill that comes so naturally to them?" one of the judges had said, very dryly, and the audience in the gallery had broken out into quiet murmurs of assent, their faces indistinguishable in the gloom.

Narcissa had squeezed Draco’s hand, her grip almost painful, and Draco knew then that even Potter, cloaked as he was in all of his shining hero glory, would be hard pressed to save them. The wizarding world needed someone alive to pin the blame, and they were convenient scapegoats. On the whole, Draco couldn’t really fault them. 

"They had the courage," Potter had said loudly, his voice carrying across the room and silencing the audience, "to conceal the truth from the Dark Lord, and that turned the tide of war in our favour. We won based on those lies. And now you want to crucify them for it."

It had taken another day of Potter testifying, and half a day of closing arguments and deliberations, but in the end, Potter’s dogged insistence won out. The political outcry at their acquittal was far more muted than Draco thought it would be, but everything was still too new, the political landscape too fragile for anyone to make any big moves against the Boy Who Won the Entire Fucking War On His Own Back, and they knew it. 

Afterwards, Potter had made it a point to step outside with Draco and his mother, standing close enough to them so that they would appear in the photos together in tomorrow morning's Prophet, but not close enough to imply they were friendly. Draco had been sick of it all, of all the political manoeuvring and politely waiting in the wings for the axe to drop, and he had approached Potter, said, "Potter," and had been vaguely surprised when his voice came out low and rusty, and shakier than he had expected. "Thank you."

They hadn’t shaken hands. Potter had looked at him then, really looked at him, Potter’s green eyes bright behind those gold wire-rimmed glasses that he still wore, and had simply nodded instead, wearing an expression on his face that Draco couldn’t interpret. They didn’t speak any further, and then the Malfoys’ team of barristers had swooped in and whisked him and his mother away. 

And now here they are, meeting for the first time in five years, and Potter’s already getting cross with him. It almost feels like they haven’t left school behind.

"I’m not trying to be nasty," he tells Potter quickly. He’s still confused, still holding his empty mug. "I only meant that you can’t move in here: I need my pot of coffee. You need to change this cupboard back to the pantry. Please," he adds politely as an afterthought, because Potter is looking at him like he's deranged, and he doesn't want the first time that they speak to each other after five years to end in a fight. Not now, not like this, over a cupboard of all things, when Draco just wants his coffee and maybe a good night's sleep, and to not feel like he’s delirious.

"Malfoy," Potter says slowly, as if talking to a young child, "this _is_ a cupboard. The pantry's over there." He indicates with a jerk of his head to a door across the room, and belatedly, Draco realises that Potter’s right, and that he's even more sleep deprived than he thought if he got the office layout completely mixed up.

"Oh right," he says stupidly, still in a sleep-deprived haze of confusion, "terribly sorry. Right. I'll leave you to your cupboard then." And he shuts the cupboard door on Potter's face once again. Behind the closed door, Potter makes a sound like he’s dying, and then the door abruptly opens.

"Why are you here?" Potter demands, his eyes flicking over the empty office. 

Draco just stares at him, bewildered. "This is where I work," he says, extending a hand to sweep over the space, as if inviting Potter to view a fancy apartment. 

The Trafficking of Magical Creatures Division is horribly underfunded and understaffed: they’re a tiny Division, but even with their limited numbers they barely fit in the space provided. There are six cubicles crammed into the small space, and every single desk is overflowing with stacks upon stacks of files. Still, despite the mess and the close quarters, it’s cheery enough: Latika had put up some tinsel formed into the shape of a Christmas tree on the spare wall for last year’s Christmas do, and none of them had bothered to take it down again. For New Year’s, David had enchanted it to change colours ever so subtly, and they liked having it slowly rotate through all the colours of the rainbow. 

Right now, the tinsel’s cycling through shades of sea-foam green, and the light that fills the room that has that strange, shifting quality that makes it feel like they’re underwater. Draco helpfully points out, "That’s where I sit."

"No, Malfoy," Potter says, impatient, "I mean, why are you still here? Doesn’t your team usually leave by seven?"

"Why, yes," Draco says, surprised. "But Fossey’s got me working on a huge dragon smuggling case, and we’ve got an international meeting with our Hong Kong counterparts in three days, and-"

"Alright, alright," Potter interrupts, with a desperate glance at his wristwatch. "There’s no time. Look, we’re staging an ambush. We got a tip-off that your offices are going to be broken into and that someone’s after some exhibits in the evidence storeroom, so could you just get into this cupboard with me and stay quiet?"

"I-" Draco has never been in an actual wand fight, much less an ambush. "Yes," he says firmly, after Potter shoots him an impatient look, and the words have barely left his mouth before Potter grabs his arm and drags him into the cupboard and quickly closes the door. 

The darkness of the cupboard is jarring after the soft ocean light of the office. The cupboard is small, barely large enough to fit the two of them, and Draco finds himself pressed right up against Potter’s chest. He doesn’t know where to put his hands. He tries to cross his arms, but there’s no space for that, and his elbows keep knocking into wood when he places them by his side, so finally he presses his palms against the back of the cupboard, on either side of Potter’s face.

He blows his breath out in a sigh–and directly onto Potter’s face. "Oops, sorry, sorry," Draco whispers, as he tries to move away so he isn’t breathing onto Potter anymore. Except there isn’t anywhere for him to move to, with the sides of the cupboard pressing in on either side of them, and all he ends up doing is rubbing himself against Potter’s chest. One of his legs has somehow gotten entwined in between Potter’s, and Draco twists like a salmon in a net as he tries to carefully extricate himself. 

Potter makes a small sound like a whine, and his hands abruptly come up to grasp Draco’s hips roughly, anchoring him in place. "Stay _still_ , Malfoy," Potter whispers, a tinge of despair in his voice, and Draco murmurs back again, "Sorry, right," and does. 

They stay like that for what must be ten minutes but feels like ten hours, Potter’s hands burning holes through Draco’s slightly oversized jumper as he holds Draco’s waist, and Draco thinks that of all the things he could have imagined happening, hiding in cupboard with Potter was not one of them. He’s too busy thinking about what Blaise will say when he finds out–Blaise will never let him hear the last of it–and misses when it happens. It’s only when Potter’s body stiffens, his hands falling away from Draco’s waist to fumble for his wand, tucked away in his pocket, that Draco comes crashing back to reality. To where he’s hiding in a cupboard because Potter said that there was going to be a break-in in the Ministry, and possibly a wand fight. He steels himself grimly, and hears what he missed the first time round–the sound of furniture scraping against the floor and the hushed murmur of voices. 

What happens after that is a blur. The last thing that Draco remembers clearly is Potter telling him to _stay down, Malfoy, do you hear?_ And then Potter’s hands are on him again, deftly pushing him down to the floor as the cupboard door bursts open to a shower of spells, Potter casting madly the moment he gets a clear shot.

Draco ends up getting a faceful of carpet, and only realises the toll that the last few sleepless nights have taken on him when he reaches for his wand, fumbling between his robes, and it feels like he’s moving underwater, every movement slow and sticky. The air is filled with the sharp smell of seared lighting and singed ozone as spells fly overhead, hot and intense. By the time he gets his wand out and gets warily to his knees, it’s all over. Potter and a team of other Aurors are standing in a rough circle around three masked figures, who are frozen–literally–into various fighting positions, and the entire office is trashed.

There are singed marks on the walls, piles of files knocked haphazardly onto the floor, loose sheets of paper floating in the air, and a large patch of scorched carpet right by his desk. Draco takes in a deep breath as he glances around the office, taking in the damage, and says very calmly, "Well, I suppose it could be worse."

Every single one of the Aurors spins around at the sound of his voice, wands out and pointed at him, and he takes an alarmed step back. 

"He’s with me," Potter says quickly, and their wands go down. He picks his way over an ocean of files strewn all over the floor to Draco, and steers Draco away to a corner. 

"You might want to head on home," Potter says, glancing over his shoulder at the rest of the team, who have begun to levitate the frozen human statues towards the door. "It’s going to take us a while to sort through the place before we can let you back into the office. Magical traces, you know. It’s a pain sorting everything out." He sounds a little apologetic, and Draco scrubs a weary hand through his hair. 

"Alright, but can I get my files first? I’ve got an international meeting in three days that I need to prepare for."

"Not now, I’m afraid." Potter’s clearly distracted, still looking over his shoulder at the hive of activity going on in the office, and Draco takes that as his cue.

"Alright then," Draco says wearily, and unthinkingly, claps a friendly hand on Potter’s shoulder as he makes his way past. "Thanks, Potter. I’ll see you around." 

Potter gives a slight jerk at the contact, and he meets Draco’s gaze for a brief, startled second before he nods. 

Once he’s clear of the Ministry wards, Draco Apparates home, and almost immediately crashes into bed and into sleep. He sleeps for ten hours straight, the deep, dreamless sleep of the exhausted and overworked. 

Morning comes too soon, and he wakes up slowly, consciousness coming to him in increments until he’s finally blinking sleep out of his eyes. Sunlight streams in through the window, and he holds up a hand against the warm square of sunshine that hits his face. The events of last night feel unreal in the morning, just a figment of his delirium, so he’s surprised when he gets in to work early and finds Potter drinking a cup of coffee at his desk and sitting in his chair, still in the same clothes as last night and looking worn. Potter’s got dark circles under his eyes, and his clothing is rumpled; his hair even messier than it usually is. 

"We’ve cleaned up the scene, so you can have your office back," is the first thing that Potter says to him. Draco notices that most of his files that had been spilled all over the floor have been tidied up and placed in neat stacks on his desk, and someone has tried, very unsuccessfully, to patch up the scorched carpet. It’s still threadbare and singed, but looks decidedly better than it did last night. 

"Oh," Draco says, nonplussed. His eyes flick around the room. His desk is the only clean spot in the chaos of files littered on the floor, and in contrast, it looks like a giant went rampaging through the rest of the office.

"Did you," he begins, then stops himself, because of course Potter didn’t. Except–except Potter’s still here, in this cramped, tired space, the only one left of his team, and all of Draco’s files have been painstakingly put back together again. Draco tries again, but he’s still bone tired, and what comes out is, "Want to grab breakfast?"

"Heavens, yes," Potter says as he grabs the cloak slung casually over the back of Draco’s chair. "I’m starving, and I haven’t eaten in twelve hours."

They head down the street to Draco’s favourite bakery. It’s a tiny place: the main shop is crammed with rows of baked goods on display, and a small dining room is tucked away in a corner that has enough seating for five. Potter shoots Draco a look that Draco pretends not to see when the owner greets him warmly by name.

It’s a pleasant morning, so they take their freshly baked croissants and steaming cups of coffee outdoors, to where the bakery has a single table and pair of chairs set up on the pavement. The buns are soft, warm and honey-sweet, and out of the corner of his eye, Draco watches Potter’s face morph into one of pure bliss after he takes his first bite. As he eats, Potter gives Draco a quick update: they suspect that the gang that infiltrated the Ministry had inside help, and they were definitely after some rare exhibits that the Division had in their evidence room. 

"The rarest thing we’ve got are the dragon parts," Draco says, and elaborates further at Potter’s raised eyebrow. "International smuggling gang. They deal in illegal dragon scales, fangs, claws, you name it. We’ve got a meeting-"

"With your Hong Kong counterparts in three days, yes I know," Potter says, taking a sip of his coffee. The coffee is good, rich and strong, and Potter drains his alarmingly quickly. 

"That’s right," Draco says slowly.

"You’ll probably have to set a guard on the evidence storeroom," Potter says, which Draco snorts derisively at. 

"Potter, we’re a team of _six_ , and that includes our Director. We’ve got the space for one more person, but absolutely no budget to hire anyone else. You’ve seen our offices, our Division is the most underfunded in the entire _Ministry_. I’ll take your suggestion to Fossey, but I can already tell you her answer’s going to be that we simply don’t have the manpower."

Potter sighs at that, running a frustrated hand through his messy hair. He knows as well as Draco does how the Ministry works. All the Departments that produce flashy press and political goodwill get almost unlimited funding, while the smaller divisions that deal with issues that the majority of the general public aren’t bothered with tend to get overlooked and ignored.

"Alright, well, I guess since there’s an open investigation, _technically_ this could come under the jurisdiction of the Aurors. I’ll speak to Robards about it."

"Oh. Thank you." Draco blinks uncertainly across the table at him, and mentally reflects on how strange his life has become lately. In the last twenty-four hours alone, he’s hidden in a cupboard, survived an attack on his own office, and now he’s having breakfast and a civil conversation with Potter, and actually enjoying it. They talk a little more about the case, and Potter fiddles with his empty paper cup, eyeing Draco’s untouched drink until Draco finally offers to buy him another coffee.

"Won’t say no to that," Potter says, his face brightening. Draco gets Potter another cup to go, and make their slow way back to the Ministry, still talking shop. 

They part ways in the lift, with Potter giving Draco a friendly nod. Draco nods back, briefly wondering how they’ve managed to go from five years of silence to sharing friendly nods in the span of less than a day. He writes it off as a fluke, as one of those panic-induced pseudo-friendships, and carries on with the rest of his day. 

He debriefs Fossey on the events of the previous night. She sighs when he tells her Potter’s suggestion and says exactly what he predicted she would say: that they hardly have the manpower to deal with their current workload, much less set watches. They beef up the wards on the evidence storeroom, but that’s the most that they have the capacity for. Draco doesn’t tell her about Potter’s offer to speak with Robards–as sincere as Potter was, Draco doesn’t think that he’ll get anywhere with Robards, and there’s no use getting Fossey’s hopes up unnecessarily. Debriefing done, Draco settles in for a long day: he’s still got two more boxes of files to get through before the meeting, and an entire office to help clean up.

He doesn’t expect to see Potter again, so it’s something of a surprise when he comes in early the next day, only to find Potter waiting for him at his desk again. Potter’s got a blank expression on his face, twirling one of Draco’s quills idly between his fingers as he stares out at the empty office.

"Robards said no," Potter says by way of a greeting when he spots Draco coming in through the doors. "He said, and I quote, ‘that we’ve got enough of our own problems to worry about, they should just be grateful we stepped in last night.’"

"Well, I didn’t really expect anything otherwise," Draco says, shrugging off his cloak. "Good morning, by the way."

"Pretty lousy news to get first thing in the morning," Potter says, setting the quill down and standing up a little bit too quickly. "Let me make it up to you. Fancy some breakfast? We could go back to the bakery."

"Sure," Draco says, and refuses to allow himself to wonder why Potter didn’t just send over a message instead. 

They go back and Potter spends an inordinate amount of time considering the baked goods on offer, before following Draco’s lead and picking up a rosemary focaccia. They spend a very enjoyable fifteen minutes sitting outside at the same table as the day before as they eat and talk. Potter’s table manners are even worse this time– once he’s done draining his coffee with loud gulps, he reaches over the table and casually filches Draco’s cup. Draco stares, outraged and with his mouth full of food, as Potter brings it to his mouth and takes a long, casual swig.

"Oh, stop looking at me like that, I’ll get you another cup," Potter says, and Draco chews frantically and swallows his mouthful of food so that he can look down his nose at Potter disapprovingly.

"No one has stolen coffee from me before and lived to tell the tale, Potter. You’re lucky you’re still breathing. I’ll have you know that in sixth year, I had Blaise locked out of the boys’ rooms once as a punishment when he tried to hide the coffee pot from me," he says sternly, which Potter just laughs at. 

"Mad tyrant," Potter says cheerfully. Draco doesn’t see what’s so funny about coffee hoarding, and is considering how he can make Potter see just how seriously he takes his coffee, when Potter gets up and, true to his word, gets Draco another cup.

They end up sitting there talking until they’re almost late for work, and end up having to speed-walk back. When they part ways again in the lifts, Draco expects that that will probably be the last he sees of Potter for another five years.

Except that he comes in the next morning, and Potter’s there, yet again, spinning around in Draco’s swivel chair as Draco comes through the door. 

"Cutting it a bit close, aren’t we, Malfoy?" Potter says, getting up immediately. "Come on, we’ll just have enough time to grab a quickie."

"A quickie," Draco repeats monotonously. "I don’t know what kind of man you think I am Potter, but you’re going to have to wine and dine me first."

Potter just rolls his eyes at that and doesn’t bother replying, though there’s the hint of a blush on his cheeks. They have just enough time to grab their breakfast to go, and Draco gives in to the inevitable and orders himself two cups of coffee. He hands Potter the second cup while they’re in the lifts back in the Ministry, "so you don’t go around acting as if you’re deprived," and Potter gives him a smile that lights up his entire face. It sends something stirring in the pit of Draco’s stomach. 

He comes in the next day expecting Potter to be there, but there’s no one waiting for him. Draco’s surprised to find that he’s a little disappointed, but he doesn’t take it to heart. The meeting is today, and he buries himself in re-reading over the information on the Sun Yee On, a Hong Kong triad with ties that stretch over almost every single continent. They’ve been in operation for over a century, and they’re well-organised, powerful, and ruthless.

The meeting with the Hong Kong officials goes well–they arrange to set up a joint task force, and send over a liaison to London for a month. Draco’s counterpart, Jin Cheng Wu, is competent, efficient, and handsome. He’s got a thick mop of dark hair that flops into his eyes– _like Potter’s,_ Draco thinks, and then abruptly drops that thought like a hot potato before it develops any further. He hasn’t seen Potter since the day he gave Potter a coffee in the lifts, and firmly refuses to wonder where Potter has disappeared to.

Cheng Wu, in the meantime, is a nice distraction. He’s quick on the uptake, and after Draco gives him a tour of their evidence storeroom, he suggests that they place tracking and tracing spells on the dragon exhibits and the wards. He shows Draco how they do it in Hong Kong, how they hide the spells within the wards; disguise it so it blends in seamlessly within the golden, shimmering net that goes up over the evidence stores, and Draco can't decide whether he likes Cheng Wu’s dazzling spellwork or his enchanting good looks more.

"If they try to raid the office again, we should let them succeed," Cheng Wu says. It’s a daring suggestion that Fossey doesn’t like.

"These dragon parts are worth millions; we can’t just let them walk out with it. What if the Sun Yee On spot the spells and dismantle them? It’s too risky," she says, shaking her head when they come to her with their idea. But they have no other leads, and when weeks go by with no progress, she grudgingly gives in. Draco doesn’t tell her that they implemented Cheng Wu’s plan the day she turned them away–now that they have official approval, there’s no need to ruffle her feathers unnecessarily.

Time ticks by, and then Cheng Wu’s month-long attachment is up. Draco takes him out for lunch on the last day, down to a pub that he’s come to love while he’s been staying in London. The curious thing about the pub is that it’s magical, but it’s located right on the boundary of Muggle London. The owners have threaded that thin line by glamouring the outside so that it looks like a derelict and rundown building to the Muggles, and have heaped a bunch of Notice-me-nots and Remember-me-nots on top of it. Cheng Wu likes it for the spellwork, for the centuries of old magic layered on top of each other, and sighs over the intricacy of it every time they come, running an admiring hand over the stone walls as the spells glimmer and snake under his hand. 

It’s a beautiful day today, with the sun warm on their faces and a gentle breeze blowing, so they order their usual fish and chips and head outside to the garden. The Muggles walk right on by, their eyes sliding away from the enchanted pub as if they can’t see it. Their table sits under the shade of a large tree, and every so often a stray leaf detaches itself and floats slowly down to the ground.

This would almost be romantic, Draco muses, as he watches the leaves slowly rain down around Cheng Wu, if not for the fact that they’re knee-deep into discussing further plans for the case. He’s nodding as Cheng Wu details what he intends to do back in Hong Kong, chewing a mouthful of food contemplatively, when a shadow falls across their table. Draco looks up into the sunlight and sees the outline of a figure in shadow. He squints, and it resolves itself into Potter’s face frowning down at him. 

"Potter," he says, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

At that, Cheng Wu says, "Potter? As in, Harry Potter? Wait, you _know_ Harry Potter? Are you two friends? Draco, you never said!"

" _Draco_?" Potter says, staring at Cheng Wu in a manner that could almost be called unfriendly, at the same time that Draco says, "Erm, we’re not–we’re–we work together. In the same Ministry."

There’s a confused pause as the three of them stare at each other. Then Potter says, "Is this your boyfriend?" his mouth twisting strangely on that last word as if he tastes something sour, and Cheng Wu’s eyebrows go up at that.

Draco says slowly, staring at Potter as if he’s grown two heads, "No, Cheng Wu’s my _colleague_. From Hong Kong. He’s on the dragon trafficking case." He doesn’t add _you idiot_ , even though the words are right there on the tip of his tongue, and he doesn’t ask where the hell Potter’s been the last couple of weeks and what gives Potter the right to look at him like that, because _unlike Potter_ , he respects people’s boundaries. 

Cheng Wu looks between the two of them, an amused expression on his face as he informs Potter helpfully, "Draco’s single. Very single. No boyfriend in sight, pity that. And this is my last day in London actually, I’m Porting back to Hong Kong tonight."

"Oh." The animosity leaves Potter’s face, and he belatedly sticks out a hand and introduces himself. "I’m Harry," he says to Cheng Wu, although he’s looking at Draco, and there’s something loaded in his expression.

There’s another pause, and Potter hovers there by their table uncertainly until Cheng Wu finally says, politely, "Would you like to join us? We’re just talking about the case, but that can wait until later."

"Oh," Potter says again. "No, that’s alright, I don’t want to intrude." 

He makes no move to walk away though, and Cheng Wu obligingly shifts his chair over, saying, "No, please, you’d be doing me a favour. You’re famous in Hong Kong, and you won’t believe how popular I’ll be once my colleagues find out I had lunch with Harry Potter."

Potter laughs at that, and pulls over a chair. His demeanour is decidedly warmer once he sits down and orders.

"So, what department are you in? What have you been working on?" Cheng Wu asks, and Potter glances at Draco, something unreadable in his expression. 

"I’m with the Aurors. I… was actually sent undercover for the last three weeks–it was a very last-minute assignment, so that’s why you haven’t seen me around." Potter rubs the back of his neck, as if trying to work out a knot, and although he’s replying to Cheng Wu’s question, his entire body is turned to face Draco, an earnest expression on his face. "I’ve only just got back really, and I was walking by when I saw you two." 

"Oh," Draco says, the first thing he’s said since Potter sat down. "If Robards is sending you off on last minute missions, he either trusts you, or you’re done something to piss him off."

"That would be the latter, actually," Potter says, grimacing, but doesn’t bother to elaborate further. He changes the subject then, asks them about the dragon smuggling case, and nods thoughtfully as Draco gives him a quick rundown on it. "So what happens once the tracing spell’s triggered?"

"We get pinged and I go after them," Draco says.

Potter frowns and stops eating. "Alone?"

Draco shrugs helplessly. "You’ve seen our offices," he reminds Potter. "You know how many people we have."

"Draco, you can’t go after them alone," Cheng Wu says, and there’s a note of genuine alarm in his voice and apprehension written all over his face. "You don’t know what these triads are like. They practically run the Hong Kong underworld, and you don’t get that to have that kind of power without spilling a lot of blood. We’ve been dealing with them for decades, and during that time their territory has only gotten bigger. Look, I’ll get the ping as well, so just wait for me to Port over with backup before you make a move."

"That would take too much time," Draco says, very reasonably. He knows what he’s getting himself into; Cheng Wu’s shown him some of the old news clippings on the Sun Yee On, and they weren’t pretty, but he isn’t afraid. He’s seen Voldemort’s inhuman face up close and in person, and once spent an entire summer living in terror while Manor was overrun with Deatheaters and werewolves. Very little scares him now. 

"You’ll need to activate backup, get clearance for the Port, and then clear Customs with your gear, and you’ve already said that the Sun Yee On work fast. They might discover the spells during that time, and then where would we be? Down one entire storeroom of dragon parts and out of leads. Again."

"That’s not worth risking your life for," Potter says quietly.

Draco scowls, because he’s been working on this for a month with no progress, and really, who is Potter to tell him about risks when Potter’s just been undercover for the last few weeks? "Look, Potter, I really don’t–"

"Harry," Potter interrupts. 

Draco carries on as if Potter hasn’t spoken. "–think you’re one to speak here. This is my case, and I should be able to handle it how I see fit."

There’s silence after that, a silence that stretches uncomfortably long until Cheng Wu abruptly changes the topic, and talks about the latest potion enhancing scandal in the Asian Quidditch League. Potter stays unhappily quiet, but Draco grateful takes up the mantle, talking cheerily as they eat their food. By the time they all finish their meals, Potter’s sufficiently recovered enough to join back in on the conversation, and they walk back to the Ministry together, chatting companionably away. Potter bids the both of them farewell by the lifts, a strange light in his eye, and Draco’s relieved that they part on relatively good terms. 

He thinks that’s the last that he’ll see of Potter, and doesn’t understand why he feels strange about it. They don’t owe each other anything, and it’s not as if they’re friends–they just grab the occasional breakfast and save each other’s lives every now and then, that’s all. And so what if he’s come to enjoy Potter’s company, and has gotten used to Potter’s shocking habit of flinching his food–it doesn’t mean anything.

Cheng Wu leaves early to Port back, and Draco finishes the work day feeling strangely lost. He goes home to a large, quiet house and eats a lonely dinner in a huge dining room meant for a family, and, not for the first time, wonders how he has managed to wander down this path where he’s not unhappy, but not quite happy either. He’s in a strange state where he just _exists_ , just goes through the motions dutifully each day, and waits patiently for the next turn in his life. It’s not a good feeling, and for a long moment he thinks of writing to his mother, tucked away in their French villa where she can pretend that the last decade never happened. Instinctively, he knows that while Narcissa loves him, however, she has never understood him. The vastly different choices that they each made after the trials proved it. And so here is he, staring into the gathering darkness of Malfoy Manor, wondering how his life turned out this way.

He goes in to work the next day still in a pensive mood, and steps through the door to find a smiling Potter waiting for him at his desk as if the last few weeks never happened. His breath catches in his chest for a moment, but he doesn’t falter as he walks over. 

"It’s far too early in the morning for anyone to be this happy," Draco says, and Potter looks up from where he’s idly doodling on a piece of paper to grin at Draco. 

"I’ve been transferred to your Division," Potter says in lieu of a greeting, and Draco stops dead in his tracks and stares at Potter.

" _What?_ "

"I’m on probation for yelling at Robards. Apparently, he wasn’t too keen about me going on at him about sharing resources. He said that since I kept banging on about how we’re ‘one Ministry, one team’, he was going to let me have a chance to put my money where my mouth was. I said fine, so he’s put me on probation and transferred me over on a temporary loan for a month, or, as he said, ‘until I worked this out of my system’."

" _What_?" Draco says again.

"I don’t think he actually thought that I would take him up on it," Potter says cheerfully, shrugging on his cloak and ushering Draco out the door. "Pretty sure he thought he was calling my bluff, and that I would fold. Oh well. Anyway, breakfast is on you this time, since you’re going to be getting extra manpower." 

Fossey doesn’t quite believe it until Robards grumpily sends over the paperwork for her to sign off on. Potter’s paycheck is still coming out of the Aurors’ departmental budget, and Fossey is over the moon about that. She assigns him to Draco’s case, and Potter promptly takes over Cheng Wu’s vacant desk. 

It doesn’t take long for Draco to get used to this, to Potter waiting for him in the mornings with a grin and a "breakfast?", or to Potter chewing on his quills and spinning around on his swivel chair as he flips through the case files, idly throwing out ideas. This becomes Draco’s new normal, and he even grows used to the way Potter steals his coffee and buys him another one to make up for it.

After a few days, Potter casually asks Draco to join him for lunch with Weasley. Draco looks at him, raising one eyebrow incredulously, and Potter just looks back at him steadily. 

"Fine," Draco says with a calm sense of fatality, and expects the entire lunch to blow up in their faces. It comes dangerously close; Weasley makes little snippy remarks, and Draco finds himself falling back into that insolent manner that he used to put on in school, and Potter gets cross with the both of them.

"Oh for Pete’s sake," he says in exasperation, after Draco makes another veiled insult about Weasley’s family and certain similarities to rabbits, and Draco scowls and demands, "Well what did you expect? What great plan did you have in mind, other than, ‘oh, let’s put them together and force them to get along?’"

Unexpectedly, Weasley joins in, saying, "Honestly, mate, this isn’t one of your better ideas."

And _that_ , that’s the turning point right there. Draco blinks in surprise at having Weasley on his side for once, and then almost instantly, they both turn on Potter. 

"I always thought Granger was in charge of the one brain cell that you three seemed to share," Draco drawls, "not sure why Potter thinks he’s got control of it now."

"Hey!" Potter says.

"Oh his plans are usually terrible," Weasley says, blithely throwing Potter under the bus. "He just goes charging in like he’s got nine lives, and it’s all _Expelliarmus this_ and _Expelliarmus that_. Not sure he knows any other defensive spell, to be honest."

" _Hey!_ " Potter says again. They both ignore him. By the end of the lunch, they’re not exactly friends, but they’re not exactly enemies either. 

Weasley nods at him, says, "Well, this hasn’t been _too_ terrible," and Draco nods back and says, cautiously, "See you around." He’s pleasantly surprised to discover that he does actually mean it. 

  


* * *

  


A week later, everything goes tits up. 

Draco gets the ping in the middle of the night. A faint, insistent buzz permeates his dreams, and when he finally opens his eyes, his room is filled with a soft, golden light, and his wand is vibrating. Instantly, he knows that the wards have been breached and the exhibits are gone.

He hurries into his clothes, still sleep-muddled and clumsy. By the time he’s done he’s woken up enough to send off an urgent owl to Potter, but completely forgets that Potter had worked his own ping into the tracking and tracing spells. He startles when the owl comes back less than five minutes later, carrying Potter’s chicken scratch of a scrawl informing him that Potter’s waiting outside the Malfoy gates, because the wards won’t let him in. 

Draco hurries outside to where Potter’s already waiting with the coordinates, his Auror bag slung casually over one shoulder. 

"Took you long enough, Malfoy. What, did you get sidetracked fixing your hair?" Potter says amicably, and Draco scowls at him. 

"Some of us aspire not to be like you, you absolute disaster of a human being." Draco flicks a scornful finger at Potter’s messy hair, currently made worse by his bedhead, and Potter merely grins in reply.

"Ready?" Potter asks, offering his arm.

"When you are," Draco replies, and links his arm through Potter’s for the Side-Along. 

They Apparate into the middle of a street flanked by a long row of warehouses that sit silent and dark on each side like squat little toads. Potter hurries them into the shadows, and Draco immediately sends out Scrying spells. Little red tendrils tentatively sprout from the end of his wand before cutting off and disappearing into the shadows like smoke, drifting and twisting as they slide in under shuttered doors and through the cracks in the windows. They wait until each tendril comes sliding back, all of them white as they wind themselves back against Draco’s wand and slowly sink back into the wood.

"All clear," Draco says. 

Potter nods to the warehouse directly in front of them. "The exhibits are in there. They must have dumped them and left." 

"Or it could be a trap," Draco counters, looking uneasily up and down the empty street. It’s too easy. It shouldn’t be this easy. 

Potter shrugs. "Won’t know till we spring it," he says, but he waits for Draco to make a decision, and this– this is exactly what Weasley was talking about, Potter charging in with no plan except _let’s see what happens_ , and honestly, Draco’s amazed that Potter’s made it this far. Privately, he thinks that he needs to have a proper talk with Potter about the importance of having a proper plan once this is all over.

"Well, since we’re here," Draco says, trying to sound breezy, but unable to shake the uneasy feeling growing in his gut. He closes his eyes and murmurs the spell, reaching out with his magic until he feels the shape of the wards begin to take hold. He goes over them carefully, feeling for the chink in the wards–there should be one, there’s always one–and lets out a small sigh of relief when he finds it. He tugs it with his magic, carefully, and then the wards collapse and he opens his eyes and nods at Potter. He’s sweating, even in the early morning chill, as he takes his turn to stand guard as Potter goes to the door.

Potter tries an _Alohomora_ , but of course that doesn’t do anything, so he crouches down and pulls out a rolled up leather kit from the endless depths of his Auror bag. "Sirius’ old lockpicking kit," he says in explanation and gets to work. After a minute, the lock finally turns with a satisfying click.

"Hah," Potter says, and Draco can hear the smug grin in Potter’s voice as he begins to quickly pack up the kit again. "Still got it."

"Well done, ten points to Gryffindor," Draco says dryly over his shoulder, not bothering to turn around. Harry laughs, a soft, pleased sound that sends a warm, prickly feeling rippling through Draco. He ignores it, and keeps his focus on scanning their surroundings.

Potter tries the door, which swings open easily enough. It’s completely dark inside, and everything is quiet and still. 

"Be careful," Draco murmurs, as Potter slips inside cautiously, wand out. Draco remains outside, keeping guard until he hears Potter’s whispered "all clear" float out from the door. He takes one last look around the dark, deserted alley before slipping in, pulling the door firmly shut behind him.

Potter’s wand is dimly lit. It casts a small pool of light around them that cuts through the darkness, and in its faint illumination Draco makes out a large work table and a row of cupboards and cabinets at the far end, as well as something glittery that lines a wall on one side of the warehouse. Another faint shiver of unease runs down Draco’s spine as he moves towards the wall, drawn in inexorably like a fish on a line. 

"Potter," he says, voice low, and Potter turns to him, swinging his wand. The light spills over Draco and off a row of the stolen dragon scales, each one palm sized and strung up neatly on a thin metal wire that spans the entire length of the warehouse. Potter takes a step back and lifts his wand higher, and the light runs down the length of the wall to illuminate the entirety of the stolen exhibits, a multitude of dragon fangs and claws and scales and horns that glimmer iridescently under the light.

It’s the odd placement of the horns and fangs and claws that catches Draco’s eye. It takes him a moment, his eyes flicking over the scales that make up the majority of the dragon parts that fill the wall, almost like a background, almost like a filler...

Then he sees it. 

"Potter," Draco says again, a thin thread of horror in his voice, and lifts his wand to trace out the ‘HELLO’ spelt out with fangs, claws, and scales.

They’re both silent for a long moment, then Potter says, voice low, "Well, looks like you were right. It is a trap."

They make for the door as one, but Draco sees it just before they get there, and grabs Potter’s arm just in time to stop him. He yanks Potter back with enough force that Potter turns and stumbles right into him. Draco automatically catches Potter, his free hand gripping Potter’s shoulder and holding him steady.

"Uh," Potter says, looking up at Draco, their faces barely inches apart. Draco doesn’t pay him any attention–his gaze is fixed on something beyond Potter’s shoulder. Potter turns to look and swears softly when he sees what Draco had spotted: a thin grey webbing that crawls up over the door and the walls, pulsing with magic and almost invisible in the gloom. 

"I thought you took the wards down," Potter says, still staring.

"I did. Those were wards to keep us _out_. This is new. I think–I think these are wards to keep us _in_. They must have triggered after a certain time once something crosses over the threshold. I’m pretty sure there must be an in-built alarm that sends off an alert once the wards are triggered." 

Draco steps forward cautiously and examines the wards carefully. He traces the webbing, trying to untangle the intricacy of the spell. It’s unusual, and far more elaborate than anything he’s ever seen before. “I think there’s a curse attached to it that triggers if we try to take the wards down. I don’t think we should attempt it.” 

"So that’s why they left the exhibits unguarded," Potter says. He’s already on the move, already prowling the length of the warehouse, searching for a way out. There’s a row of cabinets in the back that he goes through, opening each one methodically. 

Draco goes with him, and gets distracted by the worktable set up right next to the row of cabinets. It’s cluttered with petri dishes full of strange, unidentifiable blobs; corked test tubes filled with different coloured formulas and half-done potions; half-chopped ingredients laid out on a cutting board. They’re clearly running an illegal potion business on top of the smuggling. Draco doesn’t recognise half of what they’re brewing, although he recognises a couple of restricted and illegal ingredients carefully laid out in precise amounts on the table.

"Found a cupboard we can try and hide in," Potter says, and Draco looks up from where he’s picked up a vial filled with a clear substance to examine the threads of faint green, silver and blue running through it.

"Great," is what Draco is about to say, when a faint wind abruptly blows through the warehouse, smelling strangely reminiscent of rain. At the far end, the dragon scales clink gently against each other, moving in the wind. A sharp shiver runs down his spine at the same time, fierce and unexpected. The glass vial slips out of his suddenly leaden, nerveless fingers, and smashes against the floor with the lightest of tinkles. 

Smoke immediately begins to billow out from the broken pieces on the floor. Alarmed, Draco backs away, just as Potter throws a frantic _Protego_ at him. It’s the last clear thing that Potter says as he looks at Draco, his face twisted in a look of desperation that Draco doesn’t quite understand before a bubble instantly forms itself around Draco where he stands.

"Potter!" Draco yells, panicked, and the sound echoes strangely within the bubble.

Potter’s fast, but not quite fast enough. A bit of smoke gets trapped inside the shield charm, and Draco can’t help but breathe it in. It’s sickly sweet and cloying, like too much perfume all at once, and it makes his head spin for a moment. At first, Draco thinks it’s because Potter’s Shield charm is strong–it’s as if he’s looking out at the world through a thick layer of invisible jelly, everything slightly distorted and out of focus. But he feels it the moment his body abruptly relaxes and his mind begins to drift as he watches the smoke spread and fill the warehouse.

A distant part of his mind wonders how Potter’s faring. Potter, with that beautiful tanned skin and lean muscled body of his, hadn’t had the time to shield himself. The smoke that enveloped the spot where Potter stood is tinged with hints of red; bright streaks of red flashing in and out as the smoke pushes up against the shield. Which is exactly what Draco wants to do to Potter right now—push him up against something solid, and firm, and then… and then...

Then, whatever it is abruptly burns itself out and the smoke dissipates. The whole thing is over in less than five seconds, leaving the warehouse as clear as it was when they had first came in. Draco mutters a quick counterspell and breaks Potter’s shield charm, still thinking odd thoughts about Potter’s body, and all the things that he wants to do to Potter after pushing him up against a wall.

Potter’s still standing in the same spot as if he were rooted to it, his head bowed oddly, his wand hand lax at his side. 

"Potter?" Draco says, and Potter looks up, a look of dazed confusion on his face that abruptly clears when his eyes meet Draco’s. A jolt of something hot runs down Draco’s spine, and he’s moving towards Potter before he knows it, his feet carrying him there of their own accord. His fingers are burning to touch Potter’s skin, to tear off Potter’s fitted white shirt and–

"Draco," Potter says, warm and pleased, and meets him halfway.

Their wands clatter to the floor as their bodies come together in a rush of limbs. Hands tangle their way into hair, and then Potter twists them around, and shoves Draco right up against the row of cabinets with a dull clang that echoes throughout the warehouse. Potter’s got Draco’s wrists in a vice grip and pressed up against the cool metal of the cabinets as he leans in, his breath hot against Draco’s cheek. A thread of anticipation begins to thrum under Draco’s skin, intense and uncontrollable, like wildfire, like a collapsing star. 

Potter hesitates for the briefest moment, his lips inches from Draco’s mouth, his face hooded in shadow from the wandlight backlit against the floor, and then he leans in, closing the gap, his hands tightening almost painfully around Draco’s wrists. Draco feels the burning under his skin quiet down as soon as Potter touches him, as soon as Potter’s lips brushes his. Potter catches Draco’s bottom lip, sucking and mouthing it until Draco’s breathless, and then he licks his way into Draco’s hot, open mouth. Potter slides his tongue against Draco’s, and then licks up, over and over until Draco’s left shuddering up against the cabinet, mouth swollen and wet.

At that, Potter presses the entire full length of his body against Draco’s, sliding a leg in between Draco’s. Draco can feel Potter burning up like a phoenix even through the layers of clothing, his body hot like a fever and the shape of Potter’s arousal pressing urgently into his thigh.

"Potter," Draco moans, right into Potter’s mouth, and belatedly, he realises that he’s hard too, his cock straining against the confines of his trousers. Potter must feel it, because he pulls back for just the barest of a fraction to flash a ghost of a smile; too many teeth and a promise of something dark, and then he goes right back to nipping at Draco’s lips. Potter mouths his way down Draco’s jawline, tracing the frantic, beating pulse under Draco’s skin until he reaches Draco’s neck. Draco can’t help the moan that escapes him as Potter bites down, worrying the flesh, before soothing it with a kiss. He does it again and again until Draco’s a shuddering and moaning mess, pinned tight to the cabinets, and then he drags his mouth up to capture Draco’s lips again in another bruising kiss.

Potter kisses like he’s desperate, like he’s starving, his mouth hot and demanding. Draco kisses back just as fiercely, like his life depends on it, until he feels Potter begin to falter, his lips a question under Draco’s, and abruptly, Draco stops. He tries to pull back but there’s just hard, unyielding metal behind him and Potter’s hands clamped around his wrists, anchoring him in place, so he sees it when it happens, when Potter finally pulls away, when Potter’s face finally clears. First, the horror, slowly creeping across Potter’s face. Then Potter abruptly loosens his grip on Draco’s wrists and steps back, shaking his head wordlessly, looking sick. 

That odd tingling sensation under Draco’s skin immediately flares up at the loss of contact. It starts from somewhere behind his chest, a tug that runs bone deep and down the length of his arms, and out of his fingertips. Potter must feel it too, because an odd, glazed look settles back over his features and he reaches out for Draco again with a frustrated growl. It isn’t until his hand touches Draco’s and their fingers lace together that Potter comes back to himself again, staring down at their joined hands.

Draco doesn’t say anything. It’s Potter who finally breaks the silence, finally looks up at Draco and says, voice anguished, "Malfoy– _Draco_. Draco, I’m sorry. I wasn’t– I didn’t–"

"You’ve been compromised," Draco says, very evenly, trying to project a calmness that he doesn’t feel. He rubs his wrist with his free hand, and Potter catches him at it, Potter’s face a mask of shame as he stares down at the red marks in the shape of a handprint. _Potter’s_ handprint. " _We’ve_ been compromised. A variant on a lust potion, I think. It probably isn’t as strong as it should be, since we only inhaled the vapours and didn’t drink the potion directly."

"Oh Merlin," Potter says, and a wave of nausea rolls over Draco at Potter’s tone. At the dismay lying underneath the words, like a landmine, at what they’vedone. At what _he’s_ done. Potter clearly doesn’t want this, and oh Merlin, Draco’s still hard. He keeps rubbing at his wrists, trying to rub the humiliation away, and it isn’t working. Potter’s standing some distance apart, trying not to look at Draco, at their hands folded into each other. 

"Our wands," Potter says suddenly, his voice hoarse, and tugs Draco over to where their wands lie discarded and forgotten on the cold concrete floor. He swallows, and Draco watches his throat working as he forces out a confession: "I can’t fight in this state. Not when I… I know I’m going to be constantly trying to feel you up. We’d better hide in the cupboard and see if we can at least try to get the element of surprise on them when they arrive."

"A sensible suggestion," Draco says, which is how, for the second time in his life, he ends up finding himself in a cupboard with Potter. _Again_. Mercifully, the cupboard this time round is slightly larger so they actually fit in relatively comfortably, although Draco still ends up pressed up against Potter, because the lust potion is starting to take hold again. It unfurls like a flower, heat spreading throughout his body, and he shudders with need, his body almost shaking with it.

Potter asks for it softly, his hand tightening around Draco’s, "Draco, could you, please?"

And Draco is tempted to pretend that he doesn’t understand what Potter’s trying to say without actually saying anything, tempted to make Potter spell it out, except that he remembers that Potter was the one who shielded him from it, that Potter had sacrificed himself and took the brunt of it. So he just silently presses up against Potter, buries his face against Potter’s chest, works his hands under Potter’s jumper and fits them around Potter’s waist. Now he’s the one anchoring Potter in place, holding him as he fights to hold himself still. 

It’s a losing battle, and Potter finally says, voice rough, "Draco, may I?"

Draco doesn’t say anything. After a moment, he slips his hands out from underneath Potter’s jumper and takes Potter’s hands in his, guides them underneath the layers of his own clothes, to where Potter gratefully presses his palms against Draco’s skin, shapes it against the curve of Draco’s hip, his fingers tapping out an irregular beat against Draco’s hip bones.

"Better?" Draco says, and Potter exhales shakily, says, "Yeah, yeah." 

They stay like this for long moments, breathing in the feel of each other’s bodies in the dark. Potter stroking Draco’s skin with his thumb, over and over again, pulling something warm and dark to the surface every time he does it. Potter’s hard against him again, and Draco’s own erection presses back against the inside of Potter’s thigh. They remain as still as statues, politely not mentioning each other's arousals, until Potter begins to fidget again. 

"Sorry," Potter whispers, and there’s something frayed and desperate in the way he says it, in the way he tugs Draco closer, his hands skittish on Draco’s hips. Draco can feel it, the potion working underneath their skins, hot and itchy and demanding more.

Draco takes a deep breath. Steels himself. Then slowly, carefully, he slides one shaking hand from Potter’s hip down to the waistband of Potter’s jeans, deliberately slides two fingers underneath the band. Potter sucks in a shocked, noisy breath, and goes still. Draco waits for a moment, for Potter to push him away in disgust, and when Potter doesn’t do anything of the sort, he forges ahead, mirrors Potter and says, "May I?"

"Oh yes, _yes_ , please, yes," Potter breathes, and Draco shakily undos Potter’s jeans in the dark, feeling for the button, and then the fly. The sound of the zipper sliding down is startlingly loud in the enclosed space, and Draco hesitates once Potter’s jeans are open. Potter stays completely still, and it’s that little gesture, of trying to give Draco the space to make a decision, that makes Draco brave.

He reaches a hand into Potter’s boxers to palm his cock, and Potter bites his lips, says, "Oh, _oh_ ," and it’s that little catch in his voice that spurs Draco on. 

"Yes?" Draco says, and in the darkness he can feel Potter nodding, saying, "Oh Draco, _yes_ , oh yes, please."

Draco’s intrigued to find that he likes Potter this way, all broken and desperate for him. Potter babbles nonsense as Draco wraps around a hot hand around the base of Potter’s cock, gives it an experimental short stroke. Draco’s still hard. He palms himself through his trousers with his other hand, squeezing his cock gently through the material, but there isn’t enough space in the cupboard for him to work them both, so he turns back his attention back to Potter.

Potter’s babbling gives way to a faint moan as Draco’s hand slides up the length of Potter’s cock until he’s thumbing the tip, stroking Potter in the same way that Potter’s stroking his hips. Everything seems to fall away, the world constricting until it’s just Draco’s hand on Potter’s cock, slowly stroking him, Potter’s cock leaking precome, and Potter’s still got his hands around Draco’s hips, his fingers digging into Draco’s hip bones as Draco picks up the pace, his hand twisting on the upstroke, Potter moaning straight into his ear.

It doesn’t take long until Potter’s cock twitches in his hand, and Potter gasps out, "Draco, I’m -"

"Go on, Potter, come for me," Draco whispers into Potter’s ear, his hand pumping furiously, and then Potter does, messy and hard, all over Draco’s hand, and all over their jumpers. Draco strokes Potter through it, through the shudders that wreck Potter’s body, Potter’s panting breath hot on his cheek, until Potter finally stills.

He’s still in Potter’s arms. Potter’s hands haven’t shifted from where they’re placed on his hips, holding him in place, and now Potter pulls him forward, shifts one hand to fit an arm around Draco’s back. Potter doesn’t say a word, but his fingers are gentle on Draco’s jaw as he tilts Draco’s face just a fraction. And then Potter’s mouth finds Draco’s in the darkness, their lips pressing against each other, and Potter opens Draco’s mouth up with his tongue. 

Draco expects it to be hot and wet and messy like before, but this kiss is different. It’s slow and sweet. Potter kisses him easily, like he’s been doing it all his life, slides his tongue into Draco’s mouth, and pulls back to laugh softly when Draco moans. Potter brushes Draco’s bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, his palm cupping Draco’s cheek tenderly, and Draco turns his face to nuzzle Potter’s hand. 

"You’re brilliant," Potter says, awe in his voice, and Draco can’t stop himself as he leans in again, as he captures Potter’s mouth in another kiss. He doesn’t know whether he’s doing it because of the potion, or because he wants to, and he thinks that maybe it doesn’t matter, as long as he can have this moment: Potter holding him, Potter’s hands on him, gentle and tender like Potter’s handling a lover instead of–of whatever this is. 

"Hang on, I’ve got to–" Potter says, and then he’s fumbling for his wand, tucked away in his back pocket. And then the moment’s broken and gone as Potter casts a wordless _Lumos_ , the light chasing away whatever fleeting moments of tenderness that they had in the darkness. 

Potter makes a face at the mess he's made of their jumpers, and casts a quick _Scourgify_ that leaves Draco feeling clean and chilled. He moves back as far back as he can as Potter tucks his soft cock back into his boxers and zips up his pants, feeling more and more like he’s been dismissed, like a transaction that’s just been concluded.

Potter doesn’t say anything else other than to cast another wordless _Tempus_ : they’ve been in the cupboard for only fifteen minutes, although it feels like it’s been hours. Draco’s still embarrassingly hard, but Potter doesn’t comment on it, nor does he offer to help. He just slips an arm casually back around Draco’s waist, and Draco doesn’t know what to make of _that_.

They stay like that until the multiple cracks of people Apparating in reverbs throughout the warehouse, and Draco’s so relieved for the distraction of a fight and the chance to get away from Potter’s warm arms that he almost doesn’t mind the very real possibility of dying. He feels Potter tense up, and then Potter’s urgent voice in his ear, whispering instructions to _go left_ and telling him to _stay down, Draco, please, don’t do anything heroic to get yourself killed, do you hear me? Draco, please_. 

Draco ignores Potter as best as he can, pushes away the feel of Potter’s hand on him, Potter’s grip gone tight. Draco’s own grip on his wand is sweaty, and his pulse is rabbiting under his breastbone. There’s the sound of shuffling outside, muffled whispers, and then a distinct set of footsteps breaks away and grows louder as it approaches their location. 

"There’s broken glass over here," a voice calls out, and then the sound of more footsteps as more people walk over. More shuffling, more whispers. Potter’s gone quiet, his body one long line of tension next to Draco.

He’s going to have to fight, Draco thinks, because Potter’s going to be useless; Potter’s not in the right frame of mind to think about his own safety. A distant part of Draco’s mind is already formulating plans, reminding himself to tuck and roll out of the way before casting, and running through the long list of defensive and offensive spells that he knows.

He tenses as footsteps approach the cupboard, and prepares himself for the possibility of death. He’s had a good run, these last couple of years, and a crazy moment with Potter in a cupboard. He has no regrets. It’s a good way to go. Absently though, he wishes he had more time. 

The footsteps stop outside the cupboard. Time slows down as the door slowly opens. Draco’s got his wand up before he knows it, and as the light from the tip of a stranger’s wand begins to fill the cupboard, he fires off a curse straight at a startled face staring in and kicks the cupboard door open. The door knocks the stranger right in the face, and he stumbles back and goes down. Draco’s curse flies harmlessly overhead, and then all chaos breaks out as a rain of curses begin to fly towards the cupboard. The air is hot with the smell of magic, iron oxide and the tang of offensive spells.

Draco dives to the left, and tucks and rolls out of range. He doesn’t get a chance to see where Potter’s gone, because a well-aimed curse flies dangerously close to his left arm and rips his sleeve. He throws up a shield that shatters almost instantly when another curse hits it, which buys him just enough time to duck out of the way–dodging a second curse that had been going right for his heart. They’re outnumbered, too many faces snarling out spells all aimed in his direction, and he falls back, still casting wildly. It’s all defensive spells now, just trying to buy themselves some time.

Another of his Shield charms explodes in a burst of silver sparks that fall into his hair and he has to squint against the sudden burst of light in his face; blinking spots out of his eyes. He falters, and this is it. He doesn’t have time to do anything else, and he doesn’t know where Potter’s gone. 

A spell zings by, dangerously close to his face. He’s–

Then a yell cuts through the chaos. " _STOP, STOP, THEY’RE OUR COLLEAGUES!_ " Almost instantly, everything comes to a standstill, faces turning back to look as a figure hurries forward out of the darkness of the warehouse. As he steps into the dim wandlight, the image before his eyes solidifies itself into Cheng Wu’s familiar face, a streak of dirt smudged across his face, his eyes wide as he reaches Draco and immediately folds Draco up into a tight hug. 

"What– how–" Draco hugs him back, too relieved for words, and is startled to discover that he’s trembling from tension and the adrenaline.

"I got the alert too, you idiot," Cheng Wu says, releasing him with a shake. "I told you to wait for me, but no, you’ve got to go off and be an absolute idiot, didn’t you?! We could have killed you!"

"He brought backup," Potter’s voice says, and Draco looks to the right, to where Potter’s approaching them wearily, and Potter’s eyes flick over his body. Checking for wounds, Draco thinks, and then realises that his robes are tattered rags from where the spells have cut through. They were aiming to kill, Draco realises, and shakes with the knowledge of how close he came to death.

Potter shakes Cheng Wu’s hand, then takes Draco’s arm. "Are you alright?" he asks quietly, his eyes searching Draco’s face. Draco nods back, exhausted, and relieved.

"I’m fine," he says to Potter, and then looks past Potter’s shoulder to Cheng Wu, "They’ve got wards here to keep us in; be careful of the door."

"Oh, we’ve already disabled those," Cheng Wu says easily. At Draco’s surprised look, Cheng Wu adds, "We brought along a specialised cursebreaker. I told you, this isn’t our first time dealing with the triads. That’s why there’s _ten_ of us here, Draco, _ten_."

Draco rolls his eyes. "Oh come off it, you of all people know our manpower limitations! You’ve seen first hand the budget we’ve been given!"

"Which is why I told you to wait for backup. Do you understand English?" Cheng Wu says slowly, as if talking to a child. He shakes his head and mutters to himself, "Is this truly Britain’s finest? Is English their second language?"

Potter sniggers. A retort is right on the tip of Draco’s tongue, but the absurdity of the situation and one look at Potter laughing away makes Draco break into helpless giggles too, holding onto Potter’s arm as the both of them look at each other and laugh even harder. 

"Do you understand English," Potter wheezes, choking out each word, and Draco laughs right along with him. It feels good, it feels like it clears the air between them. Relief floods through him, that they’re both alive, that they’re not alone in this, that they’re okay. 

"Tian ah, I’m dealing with idiots," Cheng Wu says, deadpan, and turns away. He gives orders for the exhibits to be bagged and tagged while the two of them try to put themselves back together.

Cheng Wu’s team are clearly used to working together, and they separate into pairs and set about tackling different parts of the warehouse. Once they’re sufficiently recovered from their adrenaline-fueled laughing fit, Draco works together with Potter on the half-done potions that litter the table.

Everyone is quiet and serious, and maybe it’s the sombre mood; the quiet conversation and muted tones as they work by the dim wandlight, but that fleeting moment of delight fades away into the shadows as if it was never there. They become quiet and careful as they slip each potion and ingredient into a specially made Stasis bag, which then goes into a compartment in Potter’s endless Auror bag. Occasionally, their fingers brush as they pass potions and Stasis bags to each other, and Potter flinches each time it happens. Their cordial mood is replaced by a strange tension that now crackles between them. Draco doesn’t understand what’s changed, but Potter won’t look at Draco as he works, and they continue on in an uneasy silence.

They get the warehouse cleaned out in under half an hour, and then they wait. An hour passes, then another. In the end it’s anti-climatic: five goons come strolling in shortly after dawn breaks, clutching cups of coffee and clearly unbothered and unsuspecting. They’ve obviously relied on the wards to do their work for them, and are completely unprepared for the group of wizards waiting for them, or for when they get Petrified one after the other in quick succession.

Cheng Wu calls in for more backup, and then everything’s done and over in another hour: the goons are locked into the Ministry’s holding cells and Unpetrified; the exhibits are safely returned to the evidence store; and Robards gives in to the combined pressure of Potter, Draco and Fossey, and sends a team of Aurors to join Draco, Potter and Cheng Wu’s team in staking out the warehouse for the rest of the day. 

They make six more arrests over the course of the day, but no one that Cheng Wu identifies as a major player. Nevertheless, it’s still a win. They spend two hours dealing with paperwork so that Cheng Wu can take the triad members back to Hong Kong under the international extradition treaty, and then another two hours working with the Aurors on the papers for the magical trace evidence. The warehouse is overflowing with magical residue, and nobody's happy about having to sort through the residue for evidence of the use of illegal curses. 

It’s close to midnight when everything’s finally over and done with, and when Cheng Wu finally Ports away from the Ministry’s official Portkey point with the last prisoner. Draco stifles a tired yawn as he walks down the quiet hallways, and enters to find an equally silent office, lit only by the soft blue of the Christmas tinsel on the wall. 

Everyone’s gone–including Potter.

He supposes he shouldn’t really be surprised. Still, as he stands alone in an empty office staring at Potter’s empty desk and chair neatly pushed in, there’s a part of him that can’t help but wonder what went wrong. 

  


* * *

  


Draco goes into work the next day to find that Robards has, as usual, tried to portray it as an Auror win. Fossey’s raging in her office as she yells down the phone that this is _their_ case and _their_ jurisdiction and _their_ officers who put their lives on the line, only to have Robards coolly point out that yes, but Harry’s on it too, isn’t he? Technically, Harry’s still an Auror, just on loan. Fossey absolutely loses it at that, goes berserk and slams down the phone and spends five minutes yelling obscenities in her office while the portrait of her predecessor cringes and covers his ears. She sends Robards six Howlers that Draco quickly destroys before they can leave the office, and then summons Potter in. 

Everyone is quiet, all of them straining their ears to hear, and none of them even bother to pretend to work. Potter protests his innocence and swears up and down that he isn’t an Auror plant, here to steal their cases and claim credit.

" _I_ was the one who asked Robards for extra manpower for this Division, and he sent me on a last minute mission just to get rid of me. When I asked him a second time, he put me on probation, _and_ transferred me out for that," Potter finally yells back, sounding extremely cross.

Fossey believes him. Contrary to what everyone expected, she doesn’t fire Potter on the spot for shouting at the boss and actually cools down once he snaps. Their voices go low and conspiratorial, and then abruptly silent when Fossey casts a Silencing charm. 

Draco sits at his cubicle, staring blankly at the file in front of him, trying to process what he had just heard. So _that_ was why Potter had disappeared for three weeks without a word. He doesn’t know what to make of it—why Potter would care, why Potter’s doing this. He looks up when Potter comes out of Fossey’s office, but Potter avoids his gaze; just snatches up his cloak and leaves the office without a word.

Draco watches him go, but doesn’t follow him. He just sits at his desk and flips through a file without really seeing anything, trying to think through the events of the past month. Trying to figure out how they went from barely speaking to him giving Potter a handjob in a cupboard within a month, and then back again to barely speaking.

Draco goes for lunch alone. He heads to Cheng Wu’s favourite pub, where he orders his usual and takes the table under the tree. It’s an overcast day, and there’s no one outside in the garden, which suits his mood just fine. He finishes his lunch and stretches out like a cat, head tilted over the back of his chair until he’s staring up at the branches of the tree, watching the weak sunlight filter through the shifting leaves.

A month ago, everything had been fine, and he had actually allowed himself to entertain the possibility that he had friends. Friends who seemed to genuinely enjoy his company, who seemed to want to be around him because of who he _was_ , of who he was working to _become_ , and not because of his name, or his money. 

A month ago had been their last good day. And now everything’s shot and gone to hell, and he doesn’t even know what happened, and he’s alone again. Draco breathes out slowly and closes his eyes, cataloguing thoughts and moments: Potter’s hands on him, warm, and steady, and sure. Potter’s voice in his ear, ragged and rough as he asks quietly, _please can I, Draco. Draco, please_. Potter’s lips on his, easy and sweet like a cool summer’s day. Potter in those last few moments in the cupboard, begging him to be careful, an edge of desperation in his voice, _stay down Draco, don’t you dare get yourself killed!_ Potter this morning, eyes downcast and face shuttered closed, unwilling or unable to even look at him.

After a while, Draco comes to the slow, dawning realisation that he'll have to quit. He can’t sit there, day after day, across the table from Potter and not think about how safe he felt in Potter’s arms, while Potter looks away and flinches everytime they accidentally touch each other. As much as he wants to, Draco can’t chalk up that moment in the cupboard to the sheer insanity of the lust potion. That moment has left him too flayed open to be able to lie to himself about it. 

This is fine, Draco decides. It’ll be fine. 

It isn’t fine. 

Potter doesn’t return for the rest of the day, and Fossey’s door remains firmly closed. There’s a restless, uneasy energy in the office that unsettles Draco, and he’s glad to leave it behind when the end of the day finally rolls around. He goes home to a dark house and no one waiting for him. He stands there for a long time in the empty parlour, staring into the shadows gathering in the corners, listening to the Portraits muttering sleepily to themselves, and, for the second time in a month, feels incredibly alone. 

  


* * *

  


The next day, Draco comes into work late. He steels himself for Potter’s silence; for Potter to ignore their usual breakfast routine, and is relieved when Potter’s seat remains empty. He opens his case files and keeps his head down, works diligently at sorting out the remaining paperwork for the dragon case; at filing the appropriate forms for the transfer of the exhibits to Hong Kong for the triad trials. 

Potter comes in at about ten in a whirlwind of excitement and energy. Someone claps him on the shoulder, and Draco looks up into Cheng Wu’s grinning face and a "missed me?"

"Can’t get rid of you, more like," Draco snorts, but the answering smile that breaks across his face is genuine. Potter is very carefully not looking at Draco as he stuffs his hands into his pockets. "What are you doing here?"

"Come on," Cheng Wu says, nodding towards Fossey’s closed door. The rest of the office stares at them curiously as Potter knocks on Fossey’s door, Fossey’s disembodied voice tells them to come in.

"Well?" Fossey demands once the door’s shut and they’ve cast multiple Silencing and Repelling charms on every conceivable means of entry. 

Cheng Wu nods. "Our side’s ready to make the announcement. They were jumping at it actually, since the day they were captured, my Minister’s been impatient to announce that we’ve managed to round up some of the Sun Yee On. Now it’s just up to you."

Potter takes over then. "I’ve contacted Lee Jordan, and he’s got everything set for two o’clock. The press knows there’s going to be a big announcement, just not what it is."

"Good, good," Fossey says, smiling in satisfaction. "I know this is your case, Draco, but we couldn’t keep you in the loop on this. Robard isn’t going to like having the rug pulled out from under him. I wanted to limit the fallout to the people who can get away with it when the shit hits the fan. You, unfortunately, aren’t one of them, so I thought it was best to keep you out of it until everything was settled." She shrugs apologetically at Draco, who, mystified, just nods back. "Right then, it’s about time for me to have a long chat with Minister Shacklebolt. Good job, team, now let’s go claim our pound of flesh."

Draco shoots Cheng Wu a confused look, who just smiles enigmatically back at him and mouths a silent ‘don’t worry’. They take the lifts down to Minister Shackbolt’s offices, and the lift doors open to miles of corridors of plush carpeting, and an almost oppressive silence. One wall is taken up by a massive row of windows that have been enchanted to overlook the city. 

Draco walks to one of the windows as Fossey talks to the bored secretary sitting behind a desk, trying to wrangle a last minute meeting with the Minister. The enchanted window shows a bird’s-eye view of the Thames; of London spread out below. The buildings are tiny and grey as the river winds its way through the centre of the city, glistening faintly like a jewel. Draco watches the clouds drift lazily across the sky and breathes in the beauty of the city painted gold under the late afternoon light, feels the tight bands around his heart loosen a little.

Behind him, Fossey is saying, "—just five minutes, really, we won’t take up too much of his time," and the secretary is caving, rolling her eyes as she picks up the phone. A short conversation later and she waves them in through the large double doors opposite her desk.

Minister Shacklebolt looks harried, as they troop into his office—more plush carpeting, coupled with gilded gold furnishings on the furniture—and gets up to shake Fossey’s hand as she strides forward confidently.

"Hello," he says, genially, "Ms. erm-?"

"Fossey, sir. Diana Fossey, Director of the Trafficking of Magical Creatures Division. We’re a small division under the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And these are my colleagues." She introduces them one by one, and the faintly puzzled look leaves Shacklebolt’s face when they get to Potter. 

"Ah, Harry, how have you been?" Shacklebolt asks with genuine pleasure, then his face wrinkles again into a frown. "Hang on, weren’t you with the Aurors?"

"I was, sir. Got transferred over." Harry doesn’t elaborate any further then necessary, and Shacklebolt’s puzzled frown only deepens.

"To a division under the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," Shacklebolt says doubtfully. "Right. I see." It’s quite clear that he doesn’t. 

Fossey takes over then, explaining what they’ve been up to this last month: the joint task force they’ve set up with Hong Kong; the triads; the raid of the warehouse. Finally, Fossey gets to the heart of the issue: a press conference at two o’ clock this afternoon, to announce the success of the international task force. 

"And why am I only being informed about this now?" Shacklebolt asks, very calmly, but Draco can sense that they’re all treading on thin ice, with or without Potter present. They all exchange a look, and Fossey hesitates, trying to think of a better way to spin it. 

Cheng Wu takes over then, and he’s exactly as smooth as he looks. He explains the significance of the Sun Yee On, and hints delicately at the political boost that such an announcement would bring for Hong Kong’s Minister of Magic. He ends with, "I do apologise for the rush, but our side was very adamant that an announcement had to go out today. It’s been two days since the arrest, and there have already been rumours in the press. They need to get ahead of any leaks."

Fossey takes up the slack then, explaining that they’re a division of six with a miniscule budget, and Shacklebolt nods in understanding. He knows just as well how the Ministry works; Communications won’t deal with any of the smaller Divisions on the basis that their work is either too unimportant or uninteresting to merit any press, and leaves them to fend for themselves. 

"Might have to look into changing that. It’s a single Ministry after all, we’re all one team. And your annual budget is how much, did you say?"

Fossey tells him, and Shacklebolt shakes his head. "We’ll have to look at that again, that’s just outrageous. That’s the Aurors’ yearly welfare budget," Shacklebolt mutters, and behind him, a Quick-Notes Quill starts flying across the page. Fossey gives them all a triumphant look and blows out her breath in a sigh of relief. 

"Fossey—wait, hang on." Shacklebolt rings his secretary, and after a while she walks in with a Communications officer. It’s Hannah Abbott, who does a double-take when she sees Harry Potter, and then again when she sees Draco. Then she catches sight of Cheng Wu, talking in low tones with Fossey, and walks right into a chair.

"Minister, sir," Hannah says. She’s blushing all the way to the tip of her ears and darts a nervous glance at Cheng Wu. Cheng Wu gives her a smile that makes her fumble and drop her papers and clipboard. Draco catches Fossey’s eye, and the both of them roll their eyes simultaneously.

Shacklebolt sends them all off into a side room with Hannah, who sets about crafting a speech from scratch. They work through lunch and Fossey keeps an anxious eye on the clock as time ticks by: an hour, then two. Hannah hammers out a rough draft that Shacklebolt runs a practised eye over and quickly approves, which they then work on refining.

It’s when Cheng Wu and Draco are in the midst of arguing over when to use ‘whom’ versus ‘who’ that Draco looks up and realises that Fossey and Potter have slipped out of the room. He can hear low voices in Shacklebolt’s office, but doesn't give it any more thought when Hannah tells Cheng Wu dreamily, "You’re absolutely right. Wow, did anyone ever tell you that you’re really smart?"

"Oh, go wash your face, Abbott, you’ve got drool on your chin," Draco tells her scornfully. But this Hannah isn’t the same timid girl he used to know in school, and she flushes a deep red before giving him an extremely dirty look and the finger, which makes Cheng Wu choke on laughter.

"Nice to know your manners haven’t improved the slightest, Malfoy," she shoots back, just as Potter slips back into the room, looking both pleased and nervous. He stops when he sees Draco and Hannah glaring at each other, and Cheng Wu coughing and laughing at the same time.

"It’s so nice to see everyone’s getting along with each other," Potter says pointedly, and the two of them settle into a sulky sort of truce.

Time passes by in a whirlwind of events after that: a mad rush as they get ready, Hannah briefing them on what to say and what not to say. Two o’clock rolls around, and they hold the press conference in the usual press room in the Ministry, Fossey standing up on stage next to Shacklebolt as he details the setting up of a successful joint task force with Hong Kong. The next part is unexpected–Shacklebolt pauses, looking around at the throng of eager journalists and the cameras flashing, and turns to Fossey and says, "I’ll let Director Diana Fossey tell you the details of the operation." 

He hands the rest of his carefully prepared speech to a shocked Fossey and steps aside. Fossey boggles after him for a second, but recovers quickly enough, and talks them through the sequence of events. She ends it by following Shacklebolt’s cue and motions the team on stage to introduce them. There are shocked gasps when Potter and Draco go on stage, and a whisper of disbelief runs through the room. A hundred cameras go off at once, and Draco has to squint against the glare of the flash of light bulbs. For a long horrible moment he wishes that Fossey hadn’t tried to give them credit. They’re clearly going to be the focus of tomorrow’s headlines, which is something that he has been actively trying to avoid for the last five years since the trials.

Then Fossey specifically mentions Cheng Wu by name and impatiently waves him to come on stage when he hesitates. The journalists all give a murmur of appreciation when he finally does appear, and another hundred flashes go off, the soft _pop pop pop_ of the bulbs drowned out only by the sudden flood of questions:

"How do we spell your name?" 

"Are you a new hire?"

"Are you single, and is your Division hiring?" This last one is screamed out by a very eager journalist who has jumped to her feet, and the whole room laughs.

Cheng Wu laughs too, dimpling handsomely as he rakes a hand through his black hair and winks. The journalists all collectively let out a faint sigh of appreciation, and Draco and Potter are forgotten in the next instant, which is exactly how Draco likes it. 

Fossey gestures for them all to be quiet, and they settle down after a few more raucous moments. "Thank you all for your very sudden and enthusiastic interest in the important issue of trafficking of magical creatures," she says, very dryly, and they all laugh. "I have one more important announcement to make, and then I’ll let my colleague Cheng Wu–that’s spelled C-H-E-N-G space W-U, family name is J-I-N–take over. I’m very pleased to announce that Harry Potter has put in a formal application to transfer from the Aurors over to the Trafficking of Magical Creatures Division, and that Minister Shacklebolt has approved his request. As of today, I’m pleased to welcome Harry Potter to the Division."

There’s another uproar at that, and almost every journalist springs to their feet, all of them shouting out questions at once. Draco turns to stare at Potter, amazement plainly written all over his face, and Potter just looks back at him steadily, giving nothing away. Draco has difficulty swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat. His mind is racing with a million questions. 

Cheng Wu is taken aback when Fossey shoves him forward into the limelight and hurries Draco and Potter offstage, leaving him alone to deal with a press that’s going wild with all the bombshells that've been dropping today. He rallies though, just flashes another one of his charming smiles and says cheekily, "For further information on this case, we’ll be holding a press conference in Hong Kong in exactly an hour. Please join us then! That’s all for now, thank you."

Anyone else would have been shouted out of the room for milking the situation, but Cheng Wu is truly the press’ new Golden Boy[1], and all they want is the details of where the Hong Kong press conference is going to be held before they rush away to organise Portkeys over.

The room clears faster than they thought would be possible once the conference ends, and Fossey is jubilant at having one of their cases in the limelight for once. "Well done, team," she keeps repeating, and happily thumps them all on the back as they walk back down to the office. 

Cheng Wu has to head back to Hong Kong for the press conference, so Draco volunteers to escort him to the Port points. Potter doesn’t say anything, just darts them a look and follows Fossey back to the office silently.

Cheng Wu’s practically bouncing with excitement as they walk to the Port points, enthusiastically telling Draco that this is going to put both their divisions on the map. Draco doesn’t pay him the least bit of attention. He’s too busy processing what just happened–Potter’s transferring, no, Potter has _transferred over_ to his division, what the hell is that all about–and then pulls up short as a thought strikes him. He stares at Cheng Wu, eyes narrowed.

"Hang on. Did you know that this was happening? Did Potter tell you what he was going to do?" Draco demands. 

Cheng Wu blinks innocently back at him. "I’m sorry, but I don’t understand English," he says in perfect English, and laughs uproariously when Draco pulls a face of utter disgust and scowls at him. 

"You git! Did you know?" 

"I don’t speak English, sorry!" Cheng Wu yells back as he breaks into a jog.

Draco chases him all the way down the corridor and right into the Port rooms, yelling, "You insufferable git, stop right there! Cheng Wu! Get _back_ here!"

"No speak English, you wanker!" Is the last thing that Cheng Wu says, laughing like a demented little goblin as he reaches the Port point and fishes the Portkey out of his pocket. He gives Draco a cheeky wink, and Ports away still laughing, the remnants of his laughter echoing oddly around the Port point before it fades away in the next second.

Draco lets loose a stream of creative swear words at the spot where Cheng Wu stood, but it’s said with a lot of affection and fondness. He turns around, still thinking—and meets Potter’s gaze where Potter’s standing by the door, hands awkwardly stuffed in his pockets.

"Hi," Potter says, soft and quiet and unsure.

"Hi," Draco responds automatically, surprised.

"Can we talk?" Potter says, flicking an uncomfortable glance at the officials manning the Port points, who are staring hard at some papers on their desks and who are very obviously trying to pretend that they’re not eavesdropping. The officials look around with expressions of innocence that clearly fools no one, and Draco nods.

They fall into step with each other, and they walk in silence for a while, until Potter finally clears his throat. "I erm—so there’s probably some things I should explain."

"Uh huh," Draco says, turning to face Potter. The corridors are mercifully deserted at this hour, so close to the end of the day. 

Potter takes a step forward, bridging the gap between them. Draco eyes him, watches Potter’s throat work as he swallows nervously. "Draco, I’m sorry about—about what happened. That’s not—I mean, I never wanted— "

"Look Potter, it’s fine." Draco interrupts, and the sick feeling settles back in the pit of his stomach as if it had never left. "You didn’t want to, and you wouldn’t have done it if not for the potion. That’s fine. Me too," he lies, and Potter looks suddenly upset.

"Oh," Potter says slowly. "I—I thought—" He doesn’t finish the sentence. There’s a look of hurt scrawled on his face as plain as day, as if Draco were the one who had betrayed him, who had told him that he wouldn’t have, not with _him_.

And then Draco’s suddenly angry. Potter’s been yanking him around, giving him warm smiles and drinking his coffee and holding him like he never wanted to let go and he _transferred to Draco’s division_ , and now it’s ‘oh, the potion made me do it’? 

There’s a hard round ball of spite lodged in his throat as he spits out, "I don’t know where the hell you get off, Potter, but _fuck you_. How dare you. You say one thing and then you go off and do the exact opposite, and what the hell is up with that, huh?"

"Me?" Potter says, fury rising in his voice as he takes another step forward, and right into Draco’s personal space, until they’re practically nose to nose. " _Me_? You’re the one who just said you wouldn’t—with me. You said that it was all the potion, and I don’t understand what you want!"

" _You just said_ —" Draco stops himself when he realises that he’s yelling, and glances back down the corridors. Still deserted, although oddly enough, he thinks he can hear the faint sound of wings flapping. He forces himself to take a step back, and continues in a much more calm, albeit bitter tone, "You just said you never wanted to—with me."

"No, I was trying to apologise for last night, you git!" Potter has no such qualms about keeping his voice down, and his face is red with emotion. "That wasn’t how I wanted the first time I kissed you to turn out, and I was afraid that you thought that I only did it because of the potion!"

"So it wasn’t just because of the potion?" Draco demands. His heart is hammering in his chest like a hummingbird in a bone cage.

"No!" Potter exclaims vehemently. 

"You didn’t touch me-"

"Because I was trying not to take advantage of you! I wasn’t sure if you wanted it, and I wouldn’t just—I wouldn’t—" 

"You wouldn’t just take," Draco finishes, and Potter glares at him and jerks his head in a sharp nod. They’re both panting, chest heaving with emotion as they glare at each other, and then abruptly, they both move at the same time. 

They meet in a tangle of frantic hands and eager mouths, and Potter’s got Draco pushed up against the wall, _again_. Draco’s starting to wonder if this might be a thing with Potter—not that he’s complaining, in fact he kind of likes this, likes Potter holding him down—and then stops thinking as Potters cups Draco’s jaw and kisses him, open-mouthed and wet and messy. 

"Oh Draco, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted you," Potter moans in between kisses.

"Tell me," Draco says, because he can’t quite believe it, can’t quite believe that _Potter_ , of all people, wants him. In reply, Potter presses his growing erection against Draco’s thigh, and Draco breathes, " _Ohh_."

There’s a strange flapping sound that interrupts the moment, and they spring apart guiltily as they glance down the corridor. Technically, they’re still on the clock, with another hour to go—but what comes down their way is a red Howler, already steaming at the edges.

"That’s probably for me," Potter says, and casually destroys it with a quick wordless _Incendio_. "My guess is Robards finally got wind of the transfer. We sort of did go over his head about it."

"Right," Draco says a little desperately, because he’s ridiculously hard; had been since the moment Potter pushed him up against the wall, and he absolutely cannot wait for another hour. "Know any deserted corridors where stray Howlers won’t find us?"

"I’ve got one in mind." Potter grabs his hand and pulls him down the next corridor, then up a flight of stairs, and halfway down another corridor. He stops in front of a non-descript door built into the wall, and opens it up to another cupboard. 

Draco stares at Potter and says very carefully, "Is this something that I should know about? Not that I’m complaining, you understand, I just need to know if this is going to be a regular thing with you."

Potter laughs as he gets in and says, "Draco, do you want to get your dick sucked or not?"

Draco doesn’t need any more convincing. He all but shoves his way in and slams the door closed behind them, which Potter locks with a flick of his wand. Another flick for a Silencing Charm, and then it’s just them, and darkness, and silence, and _space_. This cupboard is roomy, and fits the two of them easily. 

Draco has to reach for Potter, feel for him in the darkness, and Potter reaches back for him. Potter pulls him in by his hips, his hands immediately going for Draco’s fly and says, "Draco, can I?" His voice sounds like whisky and sex, and something warm and liquid slides down Draco’s spine.

"Yes," Draco whispers, shaky. Potter presses one warm, large palm against the obvious bulge in Draco’s trousers and gives Draco’s cock a brief squeeze. Draco’s cock twitches in response, and Potter’s quick fingers make short work of Draco’s trousers, pushing them down to his knees.

And then Potter doesn’t touch his cock. 

Potter’s hands settle on Draco’s shoulders, and then he’s pressing closer, pushing Draco up against the side of the cupboard—and Draco’s absolutely sure of it, Potter has a thing for pinning. Potter’s lips are hot on Draco’s neck, and he licks a long, slow stretch up Draco’s neck. He follows that up with a bite, sharp enough that it makes Draco jump, but not sharp enough to break skin. Potter closes his mouth around the wound and sucks, hard enough to leave a bruise, and Draco has to bite back the moan that crawls up his throat and fills his mouth.

His hands lie heavy and useless on Potter’s shoulders as Potter mouths at his neck. Potter’s other hand slides to cup Draco’s cheek, a thumb brushing roughly against Draco’s lips as Potter murmurs, "Are you hard for me, Draco? Do you want me to touch you?"

"I—yes, absolutely, please," Draco breathes back, nonsensical in his desire, biting down on Potter’s thumb, "Merlin, _yes_."

Potter wraps one hand around Draco’s cock and strokes, and Draco can’t help but let out a soft gasp, his hands tightening around Potter’s arms. Potter swipes a thumb over the tip of Draco’s cock, and Draco shudders, gasping again. Potter does it again, and again, eliciting a faint moan from Draco, and Draco can almost _feel_ Potter smiling at him through the darkness, that _bastard_.

Then Potter lets go and fumbles in his pocket to pull out his wand. He whispers, " _Lumos_!" and a faint, dim light emerges from the tip of his wand. Potter drops to his knees. There’s more than enough space in the cupboard to fit Potter kneeling, and he places his wand on the floor beside him. He looks at Draco’s cock and licks his lips, deliberately dragging the tip of his tongue slowly over the top of his lip, and Draco swallows audibly, his throat clicking. 

Potter lets out a soft huff of a laugh as his gaze travels slowly up Draco’s body, until he locks eyes with Draco. A layer of Potter’s messy fringe falls into his eyes as he kneels there, his gaze dark and intent and full of promise.

"Potter," Draco says, and his voice comes out raspy and urgent. A slow smile breaks across Potter’s face, and Draco realises with slow, burning indignation that Potter _enjoys_ seeing him like this, wrecked and disheveled, love bites on his neck and his pants shoved down around his knees, his cock out and begging for attention.

"Tell me what you want," Potter says quietly, still kneeling, still looking up at Draco with something dark and unreadable in his face. The dim wandlight casts long shadows across Potter’s cheekbones, makes them look sharper than they are. He looks almost unnaturally handsome in this light, and Draco has never wanted him more.

Draco swallows. "I want you to make me come," he says, mouth dry. "Using only your mouth."

Potter smiles again, a quick flash of teeth, before his mouth envelopes Draco’s cock in hot, wet heat. Draco’s head falls back against the cupboard with a thump, his mouth open in a soundless moan as Potter deep throats him in one smooth motion, his lips sliding down the entire length of Draco’s cock, until Potter’s nose is pressed against Draco’s stomach. Potter pulls back slowly, deliberately, until Draco's cock slips out of Potter’s hot mouth with a wet plop.

"Tell me," Potter says again, his eyes dark and intent, before taking Draco in again.

"Come on, Potter," Draco says, his voice coming out broken, his hands drifting down until they’re nestled in Potter’s messy hair, "get my cock wet with that pretty mouth of yours. You like this, don’t you? Getting down on your knees to suck me off."

Potter hums his assent around a mouthful of cock, the vibration sending a shiver right down Draco’s spine. Potter’s hair feels like tangled silk under Draco’s fingers, smooth and thick as Draco presses one hand against the back of Potter’s head. Potter gets the message, and Draco chokes out a half-strangled moan that grows progressively louder when Potter starts sucking and bobbing his head, Draco’s cock sliding obscenely between Potter’s wet lips. Potter’s cheeks hollow out every time he pulls back, leaving the head of Draco’s prick resting heavy in his mouth. Potter does something complicated with his tongue, velvet silkiness swirling around the tip of Draco’s cock in a way that makes Draco breathless, before pushing back down onto Draco’s cock.

Potter pulls off just long enough to say, "Keep talking dirty, Draco, please," and then goes back to sucking. He looks up from under a layer of hair that falls into his eyes, his lips wet and tight around Draco’s cock, and Draco abruptly blows out his breath in a noisy moan at the sight.

"That’s right, Potter," Draco murmurs when he finally gets his breath back, caressing Potter’s hair gently, his voice liquid like honey, "you love sucking my cock, don’t you? You suck cock like you’re made for it."

The sounds that Potter makes in response is almost filthy: soft wet slurps as he sucks eagerly at Draco’s cock, moaning quietly as he works him, taking him all the way in. Potter’s mouth is hot and impossibly tight, his lips wet and swollen, and drool starting to drip down his chin.

Draco can only watch through half-lidded eyes, grunting unwillingly every time his cock hits the back of Potter’s throat. Potter looks absolutely wrecked in the dim wandlight, his hair even messier than usual with Draco’s hands carding through it, his face smeared with drool and precome. Draco watches his cock slide between Potter’s lips, gleaming wet with spit, and the absolute wanton enjoyment on Potter’s face when his cock pushes obscenely against the inside of Potter’s cheek.

"Oh Potter," Draco breathes, "oh, you should see yourself. Do you like this? Being on your knees, moaning like a slut? You’re just begging for it."

Potter just moans louder in response, his lips tightening around Draco’s cock, and Draco’s hips automatically snap forward on their own accord as he comes unexpectedly. His body curves gracefully over Potter as he comes, his hands tightening in Potter’s hair, groaning as he rides out the last waves of ecstasy that rack his body.

Potter swallows down as much as Draco’s come as he can, but a little bit spills over and runs down his chin. Draco moans again as his over-sensitive cock slips out of Potter’s mouth, and he opens eyes that he didn’t realise were closed to watch as Potter wipes his chin with a finger. Potter holds Draco’s gaze as he slowly brings his finger to his mouth and sucks it down to the last knuckle.

"Oh Merlin," Draco says faintly. His knees are shaky. 

"Nope, just Harry," Potter says cheekily, and Draco huffs out a laugh. He tucks his cock in and tugs up his trousers, then reaches out a hand and pulls Potter up.

"You’re amazing," he says, still breathless, and reaches for Potter’s jeans. 

Potter stops him, takes Draco’s hands in his and says, carefully, "I thought I had to wine and dine you first." There’s a long pause, and then Potter says, "Erm, that was me trying to ask you out on a date by the way. In case that wasn’t clear."

"Yes," Draco says, and he’s laughing again as he pulls Potter to him. "Yes, you absolute unsubtle disaster, yes."

They don’t make it out of the cupboard for quite some time.

**Author's Note:**

> 1 This is a pun! Cheng Wu’s family name is Jin (金), which means gold.
> 
> * * *
> 
> If you've enjoyed this, feel free to come on over and [say hi on tumblr](http://tasteofshapes.tumblr.com/)! If you'd like to reblog this, this is the [tumblr fic link](https://tasteofshapes.tumblr.com/post/611857370720665600/the-lion-the-dragon-and-the-broom-cupboard)!


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